


Reprise

by Jacepens



Series: Word of the Day [5]
Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Flowers, Fluff, It’s kinda creepy but don’t worry it’s ok, Love Letters, M/M, Secret Admirer, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28490568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacepens/pseuds/Jacepens
Summary: Reprise: a recurrence or repetition of something.The letters appeared in his mailbox every day at noon on the dot. No return address, no name, just a beautifully penned love letter with a pressed flower inside. Lafayette decided to refer to his secret admirer as his flower.
Relationships: Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette/George Washington
Series: Word of the Day [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079444
Comments: 6
Kudos: 3





	Reprise

**Author's Note:**

> Congrats on making it through 2020! Enjoy some very fluffy stuff now:)

The letters appeared in his mailbox every day at noon on the dot. No return address, no name, just a beautifully penned love letter with a pressed flower inside. 

At first, Lafayette had panicked. Tried to track down the stranger, called the police, had his friends spend the night with him so felt safe, but nothing ever happened. The letters continued to arrive.

The contents were not at all worrying, they did not even sound overly maniac claiming to know Lafayette’s heart and soul, claiming to be madly in love with him. It was just that the writer admired him, wanted to know him, claimed to have never been overtaken by such a furious shyness until they saw Lafayette. 

That part _had_ worried him. The fact that this stranger knew his name, knew his face, worried him, but he realized thousands of people knew his name and face. Sure, they only appeared on early morning business shows, but it was enough that Lafayette shouldn’t have expected complete privacy. For all he knew, he could have met the writer of the letters at any of the hundreds of meetings he’s had to attend over the years.

Soon, he started to become excited to read what his admirer would write to him. When he had a bad day and was so tired he could hardly stand to eat something. The letter were always there, a silent cheerleader in his life. It brought a smile to his face, a warmth in his heart. The writer always found a new way to convey their feelings, in a respectful manner, but with lovely prose and delicate writing. With each letter came a new flower, its name lovingly written at the bottom of each letter, and he soon had a rapidly growing collection of pressed flowers in his office that always managed to brighten his day. It was after he noticed the large pile of flowers that he decided to refer to his admirer as his flower. 

_My flower has written me the sweetest letter today.’_ He would tell his friends, showing off the flower that came along with it, tenderly tracing the petals and leaves. His friends insisted that he should not act so carefree, and he wasn’t. He always made sure to tell his friends exactly where he was going and when he arrived, even if he did not believe his flower to be a psychopath. It was more to soothe their worries because Lafayette could not help but trust his flower.

He felt happiness and warmth bloom in his chest every time he thought of his flower. He wondered what their gender might be, what their face might look like, how they managed to acquire so many flowers for him. 

So one day, the curiosity overwhelming him, he wrote his flower a letter back.

He didn’t know if it would suddenly change how his flower felt, would make them stop sending letters altogether. He frowned to think of never hearing from his tender-hearted flower again.

He placed it in his mailbox just before noon, but did not stick around to see just who was putting the letters in his mailbox. He didn’t want to ruin the mystery of his flower’s secret. 

The letter he received the next day contained a sunflower and was signed at the bottom, _your flower_. He giggled and added the sunflower to his large collection of flowers. It had begun to take up too much space in his office and he began carefully gluing and taping the flowers to the walls and the windows. His office was soon the most cheerful room in his entire apartment, and it was all thanks to his flower.

The exchange of letters between them took a new tone once they began speaking to each other. His flower confessed they saw Lafayette around and had heard his friends once refer to him as Lafayette. That they only happened to often be around their apartment he resided in often enough to know which box was his.

So they were someone that worked nearby, Lafayette concluded.

On one hand he wished to solve the mystery of his flower's identity, but on the other hand he worried it might ruin whatever strange path they had carved for themselves. The loving words were the best parts of Lafayette’s days, writing a response was second a close second.

He learned more about his flower with every letter. Where they grew up, what their dreams were, what their favorite show was. The only thing he did not know was their face.

“Lafayette, I will not allow you to meet up with this creep.” Alexander hissed at him from across the table of the crowded coffee shop.

“Oh why not?” He grinned, “we would meet here! A public place and both you and John will be here! What could go wrong?”

“It’s not the meeting that worries me, but what might happen after. Lafayette, I’m worried you have developed feelings for this _flower._ ” He glared, always the cynic. 

“I suppose I have. Who would not after reading so many of their kind words?” He giggled, taking a sip of the sweet drink in his hand. 

“Lafayette, how do you know they haven’t been stalking you?”

“Maybe they are.” He shrugged, “but after a whole year surely I would notice, don’t you think? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one stranger too often. Besides, they work all day. They don’t have time to stalk me.”

“They’re lying to you.”

“Or they’re telling the truth.” He grinned at his still angry friend. “Oh cheer up Alex!” He poked his friend, “if I have their name can’t you run a background check on them or something? You can even talk to them! John can talk to them! You and I both know that John has an uncanny ability to sort out the good and bad.”

Alex sighed, slouching over. A sign that he had won the argument. “You will meet them here _once._ ”

Lafayette almost rolled his eyes. With Alex’s permission or not, he was going to at least meet his flower once. But he kept his mouth shut, the concern only came from love.

“Thank you Alex. And you have my permission to claw their eyes out if they’re a creep.” He added with a playful wink.

Alex snorted, “I’ve never needed your permission.” Lafayette playfully smacked his dear friend and left to go back home and read the latest letter from his flower.

They met on a Sunday.

Lafayette had been a mess all day, fixing his hair, changing his outfit a dozen times, drinking water to keep his mouth from drying up due to nerves.

He was nervous to meet his flower. Terrified actually.

It wasn’t because he was afraid they might actually be a stalker, he was afraid they _weren’t._ He was afraid they would be delightful and beautiful and bright as the sun. And it terrified him.

He grabbed his bag, equipped with pepper spray, and texted Alex and John that he was on his way. On his way to meet his flower. 

He arrived a good half hour before the time he said. He ordered a hot chocolate, and sat at a vacant table, twiddling his thumbs and waiting and waiting for his flower to arrive.

The more and more minutes passed, the more terrified he became. What if they did not come? What if a meeting really would shatter what they had? Would Lafayette be left sorely disappointed, aggravated at himself for being so trusting?

Every person that came through that door had his heart pounding in his chest, had him desperately searching each face to see if they were looking for someone. Looking for him.

He knew exactly who his flower was the moment they walked in.

Lafayette shot up out of his chair, scraping loudly behind him, but it did not matter to him. Their eyes met and a warm smile broke out on Lafayette’s face. 

His flower was beautiful.

Their face was flushed when they sat across from him, not even bothering to order anything. Lafayette sat up straighter, just looking at his flower until he broke the silence. 

“My name is Gilbert de Lafayette.” He held out his hand, and his flower grabbed it in his hand, face going warm.

“George Washington.” Lafayette had to bite his lip to keep from smiling too wide. His voice was gorgeous, his hand was warm, there was a kindness in his eyes and Lafayette knew he was falling too fast.

“Tell me about yourself, George. The things you wouldn’t tell me in your letters.” He grinned at him and George quickly turned to look at his hands resting on the table.

He cleared his throat, “I am the gardener.”

He chuckled when George finally revealed just how he knew him. He was the gardener, _of course._ It made sense, the beautiful bed of flowers growing outside the expensive apartment building. Someone had to maintain the beautiful blooms, it only made sense it would be his flower.

“I should have guessed as much.” He chuckled.

“You really did not know?”

Lafayette shook his head, curls bouncing, “I’ve never seen anyone out there. It honestly never occurred to me.” Lafayette noticed George staring at his hair as he shook his head.

“But I would like to know something else.” George perked up, pulled out of his trance. “Why do all of this? I mean, why the letters, why the secrecy?”

“I told you, didn’t I? You evoke a new-found shyness within me.” Lafayette smiled, he could clearly see that. “But it is not only that, it is the fact that you are so intelligent, so driven and hardworking and with a station so far above mine I suppose I thought you would scorn me if you knew the truth.” He shook his head, eyes returning to his hands.

“Aw, I could never turn away my flower.” He winked and George began fidgeting. “As long as you’re not a weirdo of course.”

George shot him a mischievous look. “It depends on your definition of weirdo.”

Lafayette barked out a laugh. “Perhaps you are right!” He wiped the tear away and took a sip from his drink, rushing forward when he felt the warmth dribble down his chin.

George caught the droplet of chocolate before he could, thumb pressed just beneath his soft lips. He quickly pulled his hand away and cast his eyes to the ground. “I am so very sorry, I only didn’t want your nice clothes to get ruined.”

“And you have done me a great service.” Lafayette smiled at him. George looked up, sheepish and blushing adorably pink. A man that handsome was not allowed to be that damn cute.

His flower was sweet, quiet, but when he spoke Lafayette became consumed. He did not ramble on as Lafayette did, he made his every word count, each and every one carefully picked. 

Lafayette prayed to the heavens this would not be the last he saw of George. 

Beautiful, magnetizing, charming George, with a flower pinned to his shirt. Lafayette wanted to spend every day with George. 

But he took his time. It took almost a year for George to earn Alex’s stamp of approval, another year for Lafayette to gain the courage to kiss him. But oddly enough, he did not mind the slow moving nature.

George told him every flower grew differently, each one needed a different and special kind of care. He compared them to people, saying that certain conditions might be exactly what a flower needs to thrive while to another it would be the death of it. He said some flowers took years to grow, others days. Some had sweet fragrances, others awful. He joked that in that way too people were like flowers.

It made sense to Lafayette. Everything about George just made sense, fit perfectly into his life the way no one ever had. 

It made sense to get down on his knee and propose in the most beautiful garden in Paris full of bright blues, pinks, yellows. They surrounded George in a beautiful halo as Lafayette looked up at him, wet tears smudging his vision.

Lafayette married his flower seven years later. On the very day he received that first letter.

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr!](https://jacepens.tumblr.com/)
> 
> It would be super cool if you took a few minutes to fill out my [form](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLScb42Hu6DtFT_yr6jYLr6mbg2zVtyf-JDroMtDGL4ni-4zSXw/viewform) so I can get an idea of what else you might want to see!


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